


painfully so

by serendipitea



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Assassination, F/M, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pain, Self-Sacrifice, a lil?, idk i cant tag right, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitea/pseuds/serendipitea
Summary: The night she is meant to conclude her mission, Mikasa realizes exactly how hard it is to assassinate Jean.-Idea from this tiktok: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMejea6v1/
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	painfully so

Mikasa knows when Jean sleeps by, the moonlight has just been obscured by clouds and the stars are twinkling like they should on a romantic night meant for lovers. It is late enough to avoid any of the servants in the palace but early enough to escape the territory before day break. The silence almost feels deafening, far too serene for a night like this. Too peaceful for the harrowing act she was on her way to commit.

Her heart has barely settled by the time she makes it to his quarters, beating hard enough to make the blood rushing through her veins audible. She shouldn’t feel like this. This is just another mission, another life to take, another order.

She shakes her head and winds her lips into a thin line.

His window is closed. The door to the balcony is shut. The candle wax on the side has hardened over. The curtains are withdrawn, no hidden guards. The bed is raised high enough she can see underneath. No witnesses.

She walks lightly, like always. Barely a sound echoing in his grand bedroom.

There is no wind tonight, the night is still as ever. Not a sound echoes in from the courtyard below. His body is still, turned away from her.

It must be extremely poetic: she has drifted into his life like a summer breeze, and now she will leave feeling nothing but a ghost.

Then, he shifts. Sitting up and slowly turning her way.

“Mikasa.”

It’s almost like a plea, he must know.

Her lip quivers for a second but she covers it quickly. She can’t let any weakness or hesitance show.

His eyes soften as his eyes adjust to the dark, finally seeing her clearly.

He takes a minute, tracing all the lines and perfections that make up her face. Observing, like always. Admiring, like every second with her is awarded by the grace of god.

The sensible part of her mind seems to snap to attention under his scrutiny.

She clenches her teeth and draws her dagger.

She can see his heart drop.

Not from fear, but from disappointment. Soft eyes turned sour from repulsion as all the memories flit through his mind. He’s questioning every hushed conversation, every stroll through the gardens, and every locked gaze over dinner.

She wants to badly to tell him he’s wrong. But what could she ever say? He thinks so highly of her, thinks she is some that the strongest power in the world could not reckon with. But in this moment she knows, she is just a pawn.

He doesn’t make to run, to scream, or to pull out a knife hidden somewhere under his mattress. He watches her, brows furrowed and hands shaking.

His eyes fall to the vanity in his room, sitting on the top with shining blue velour adorning its exterior is a jewelry box. In his mind’s eye he can still see the bight pearl necklace sitting on a velvet pillow. Almost perfect, he had imagined.

He remembers seeing it the first time, knowing immediately how well it would compliment her grey eyes. Forged through grit and perseverance, he knew it was perfect for her.

His eyes flit back, shifting between her and the dagger.

The misery is apparent.

He had known. Her letters had been intercepted two nights ago but he waited it out anyway. He just had to know if she was playing them the same way they thought he was being fooled. He had to know if she’d really do it. If she could slit his throat in his sleep, if she could will herself to watch him bleed out until he died. If she could bear to live without him.

But it seems she can. And she will.

“Can you tell me how long?” He asks.

He always asked her question in the most respectful way, never one to make her uncomfortable. And when he spoke with her it was like a melody, soft and tranquil like a lullaby. His stories were never meant to flaunt anything, he wound his tales with true vulnerability.

His voice was the kind she could never refuse.

“Since the beginning.”

She says it so bluntly it almost makes him fall to her knees.

Was it that easy? He wonders.

“Did you lie about it all?” He says instead.

He wants to know if toward the end she had grown even a little fond of him. No, he _needs_ to know if it was all duty and deceit.

He doesn’t care if he really is the fool Mikasa made him out to be in her letters, doesn’t even care if he lives to see the sunrise. He just has to know if all these months were regrettable to her.

She doesn’t answer.

Instead, she readjusts the grip on her dagger. It catches part of the moonlight and glints, the red jewels encrusted into the handle looking beautifully dangerous. A bit like her.

Odd, he never would have described her that way until just now. Even after so long, he does not know her.

And it occurs to him, he was foolish. To think an ethereal being so strong, so intelligent, and more beautiful than he could ever describe in a satisfactory way, would love him the way he did her. She was too good, flawless even, for him. And who was he to assume she would choose him over her duty? What could his love do but serve to make him miserable? Was there anything he could offer her she couldn’t get from anyone else? Surely, anyone would love her ten fold better than he could.

Just as he would give up every title he holds and dissociate from all the privilege he has inherited, anyone else would. There is no doubt that any person with a sound mind would readily give all their energy to hearing her woes, brightening her darkest nights, and sharing the burden of every obstacle she would encounter. Undoubtedly, they would dedicate their entire life to watch her heart-stopping smile grace her features.

But she doesn’t move now. Does not go ahead and stab him where he stands. She stands still like a soldier waiting for their command.

When he looks deep into her, she is steps away but feels farther than ever, he can almost see through the front she has drawn onto herself like curtains.

She still hadn’t killed him. He doesn’t understand why. What reason is there to procrastinate? Everything has aligned in an optimal way. He knew she would strike tonight, so he made sure to remove any interferences. Now, as an assassin’s ideal circumstance has been laid in front of her, she does not make her move.

She feels frozen. She’s carried out this task before and there should be no question in completing the orders placed on her months ago.But still, for the first time, she feels like a monster.

Even in this moment, when anyone else would be paralyzed with fear so strong they become unfamiliar in profile, everything about him is unforgettable. His hands, that she remembers as warm and soft, quiver at his sides and she hates she has reduced him to half of the soul he was. Even through his sadness, his eyes are just as fond of her as they were when they stood in the shadows of the sunset. His lips look just as soft as the first time he asked to kiss her, and she will never admit how sweet he tasted.

Tears blur her vision but she blinks them aways as best she can. Her body heats up in apprehension and she feels, another new feeling, anxiety crawling up her spine.

But she knows her place. And her place is to follow orders. Her obligation is to bow her head and see through with every wish that she is told to manifest.

She steps forward. He stays in place.

Her voice is barely a whisper, “I loved you.”

And his heart stops for a second. Even now, she is so generous. Gifting a dying man his only dream.

She draws the dagger up, slicing through the air before it takes its place, pressing onto his neck.

He smiles, but there is no true happiness.

She frowns, staring into brown eyes that remind her of the few comforting experiences she ever was ever blessed with.

The blade slits his throat open. He falls.

Instinctually, his hand comes to the wound, but he makes no attempt to save himself. The blood rushes out, dark red and thick when it stains his clothes and drips onto the ground. He doesn’t struggle, just coughing against the blood.

Still, in the very last moments, he watches her. Eyes filled with heartbroken longing printing her elegance into his heart with permanent ink.

His last memory, and he is more than satisfied with it.

It takes many moments for him to still, his hand falling away from his throat, no energy left in his deprived body. She stays a little while longer, thinking of how lively he was moments ago. Pulling her through the gardens, dancing with her in fields, hugging her tight enough she never wanted him to let go. Though she can never speak of it.

No, she never will. These are secrets she needs to keep with only herself.

Mikasa bites her lips, trying her best not to make a sound. A cry slipping past her lips cannot be her undoing.

“Just not enough,” she continues, heart aching in such a way she knows it will never heal.

**Author's Note:**

> kind of short but im just really busy with uni rn, decided to pump something out on bday weekend just for fun! my gift to you hehe <3 i hope you guys like this, pls comment and let me know your thoughts <3


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